Desolation

She is like an inanimate mother, of a bizarre changeling She nurses it upon her own arterial blood of heart; deepest crimson that has turned ugliest black While she knows its lethal, It bites her tender part So that she could die on vine, easily. She’s dispensable, below par; to her own self.

She allows it to feed on her Accepting her fate, Until she’s bloated with her Own transient state. She empower this stillborn To drain her own anima Until she no longer can perceive, Any pain nor any joy Peace nor fear Hate nor love Lust nor chastity Passivity nor frigidity She has designated her child as ‘Loneliness’ And she lets it consume her Till she’s Empty.